


Between the Click of the Light

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cold, terrible feeling settles in Holmes’ chest. “You haven’t seen him?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Click of the Light

Lestrade meets him at the base of the towers. “Is he dead for real this time?” he asks, nodding up at the hanging figure. 

Holmes glances up, eyes the fluttering coat. “He’d better be. Even I can’t see how he could have survived that.”

Lestrade harrumphs. “We’ve got Lord Coward in custody. Tried to get away; don’t think he knows Blackwood’s dead yet.”

Holmes isn’t really listening to him, his eyes scanning the crowd, searching for a certain, distinct figure. A figure he does not see. “Is Watson at the Yard?” he asks, and Lestrade starts. 

“He’s not with you?”

A cold, terrible feeling settles in Holmes’ chest. “You haven’t seen him?”

Lestrade’s expression is grim. “No. We placed guards on the sewers; maybe he’s come out somewhere.”

But Holmes is already gone, running, back towards the nearest sewer entrance he can think of, calling of his memories of the twisting maze below. Lestrade curses and give urgent orders to his men, then runs after him. 

The larger cavern like area is still full of machines and unconscious bodies, ruffians and thugs, except one, and Lestrade lets out a harsh “Goddammit” just as Holmes breathes out a stunned denial.

Holmes takes another stumbling step and falters, falls to his knees beside Watson, his hands going searchingly to his neck; even Lestrade, however, can see he’s no need of verification. There is a small, red hole in the middle of Watson’s forehead, his eyes wide and staring, shocked. _He never had a chance,_ Holmes thinks, and then his hands settle on the still, still chest, his thoughts running in mad circles. A small part notes the details, powder burns on his eyebrows, small caliber, close range, and offers a villain up; Moriarty, but the rest of his mind is crying in a small voice, _Watson, it’s Watson, oh god, no, not him._ “No,” he whispers, and “No, no, no,” he’s forgotten all other words, everything blotted out by the horrible reality before him, undeniable. 

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and for once he doesn’t know what he’ll find as he turns to Lestrade. He closes his mouth, seals his lips, _I should have left it alone, should have let you go to her._ Her. Mary. Someone’s going to have to tell her. He says as much.

Lestrade frowns. “Yes, but…do you think you should be the one?” he says, uncertain. 

_No,_ Holmes thinks, but he can think of no one better. Bad enough to hear it at all, worse still to hear from a stranger, from some one who barely knew him. He stands, backs away, knowing he’s running, knowing he’s a coward. Lestrade tells him, “We’ll take him to the Yard. Go.” 

Holmes shoots him a glance, and turns, walks away, runs away, but there are parts of him left behind, all the important parts.


End file.
